


8:55am

by kremlin



Series: tumblr shorts and prompts [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: Abuse, Developing Relationship, Elevators, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Failing relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Secret Relationship, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-07 06:27:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 13,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13428759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kremlin/pseuds/kremlin
Summary: Every day, 8:55am they ride the elevator together. And every day, they fall a little bit more in love.





	1. Monday, April 2nd, 8:55am

Feyre studied him out of the corner of her eyes while she waited for the elevator to reach her floor. She had been, ever since he stepped into the elevator and their eyes met. He was gorgeous. Deep blue eyes, almost violet, framed by unfairly long, dark lashes, a strong, chiseled jaw, sculpted lips with a noticeable Cupid's bow that was begging to be kissed, and cheekbones to die for. His inky black hair casually fell into his brow and curled slightly over his ears and at the nape of his neck.

He was the most beautiful man Feyre had ever seen.

Feyre tore her gaze away from the handsome stranger and, suddenly feeling very self-conscious, scratched the back of her left hand. When she did, she felt the obnoxiously large emerald that adorned her ring finger cut into the palm of her other hand.

Right. After much pestering on his part, she had finally accepted Tamlin’s proposal. She shouldn't ogle other men. But, well, Feyre was an artist. She couldn't help but admire a fine piece of art, she told herself as she slightly turned her head and took him in again.

With a soft beep, the elevator came to a stop and Feyre faced forward, ready to get off.

It was only then, that she realized the elevator doors were polished metal, almost reflecting as well as any mirror. With a start, she saw the handsome stranger looking at her through the reflection. When their eyes met on the polished surface, he smirked and gave her a wink.

Feyre blushed a deep red. He must have totally seen her ogling him. She was horribly embarrassed.

When the doors slid open, Feyre took off as fast as she could, running down the hallway for the sanctuary that was Hybern Inc., where she would be working at from today on, hoping she never had to meet him again.

Although a small part of her wished she would.


	2. Friday, April 6th, 8:56am

He stuck his hands between the doors, before they closed completely, prying them open again.

He smirked at Feyre, like he had all week, and she felt a little thrill at the sight of him. 

Seeing Mr. Handsome had been the highlight of every day this week and she had been terribly disappointed just now, when he hadn’t shown up at their usual time. Feyre didn’t know if she’d manage today without his cocky smirk. It never failed to brace her for what was to come.

Feyre hated her job.

She’d fought long and hard with Tamlin over whether she was allowed to work at all. Tamlin wanted her safely tucked away at home, but Feyre couldn’t stand it. She wanted to be out there and contribute. So after long and tedious discussions, that had involved much shouting and some wall-punching, he had agreed to let her work with Hybern, a company he had close relations with. Tamlin’s friend Ianthe had inquired on Feyre’s behalf and she got a secretary position, doing mischanellous tasks for the boss Hybern himself.

And she hated everything about it. But it was still better than sitting at home, waiting for Tamlin to spare her some attention.

Especially, when Mr. Handsome rode the elevator with her every day.

Feeling a bit bolder than usual and because she had come so close to not seeing him today, Feyre gave him a tight-lipped smile when she stepped off the elevator. 

He answered with another sexy smirk.


	3. Friday, April 20th, 8:55am

“Rhysand,” he said out of nowhere.

It took Feyre a hot minute to realize he had addressed her.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

Mr. Handsome turned towards her and Feyre immediately got sucked into the violet depths of his eyes.

“My name is Rhysand. Rhysand Nash, but my friends call me Rhys,” he said, extending his hand for her to shake. “After 3 weeks of daily encounters in this elevator, I felt like it was time to introduce myself,” he explained, his telltale smirk firmly plastered on his face.

“Oh,” Feyre said, blushing, and took his hand.

His skin was dry and warm, the press of his fingers on hers awakening feelings in her stomach a handshake had no business calling forth.

“Nice to meet you,” she stammered.

Still holding her hand in his, Rhysand looked at her as if he was waiting for something, but Feyre was too busy losing herself in his eyes to think about what it might be.

The elevator ping startled them out of their trance and Feyre hurriedly dropped Rhysand’s hand.

“Oh, uhm, nice meeting you Rhysand,” she said and quickly stepped off.

Only when she was sitting at her desk a few minutes later, her cheeks still slightly warm, it occurred to her that she had forgotten to give him her name in return.


	4. Monday, April 23rd, 9:25am

Feyre hit the elevator button, cursing softly under her breath.

She was running late. 

Tamlin had been especially annoying this morning, dropping comments about how things had changed and how she had grown distant, hinting that her working was to blame.

Feyre’s steadily growing annoyance with her fiancé and a particular nasty comment from Tamlin over brealfast had their bickering escalate into a full-fledged fight. He more or less had admitted, he still didn’t want her to work and that he had assumed, she would grow tired of having a job after a few weeks and see that Tamlin had been right all along and that being a housewife was so much better.

_ Has he always been this type of person? _

Feyre didn’t exactly like her job, but she wouldn’t give it up. Not even for him. She liked working, even if she didn’t like the work itself. And for the part about her growing distant…

Well, that one was true, but they had been drifting apart for a while now. Probably another reason why Tamlin had been so dead set on putting a ring on her finger. Give a girl a rock and she doesn’t walk, or something along these lines. Feyre snorted.

They had been shouting at each other until Feyre declared, she had to go to work, leaving an agitated Tamlin behind.

And now she was not only late for work, he had also missed her elevator date - she had to come to think of them as dates – with Rhysand. This, more than anything, left her feeling disappointed. This one minute in the elevator was her escape, the one guilty little pleasure she allowed herself.

“Why, hello darling. Running late?” a deep voice purred behind her.

Feyre’s heart jumped and she turned around. 

Rhysand was standing behind her, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Feyre couldn’t believe her luck. He must be also running late.

“Ah, yes. Got held up. You too?” she asked politely.

“No, I was running an errand,” he declared, holding up a tray of Starbucks for her to see. “Coffee machine broke, and certain people won’t make it through the morning without their daily fix.”

He chuckled and Feyre couldn’t help a little giggle escaping her. The elevator arrived and they stepped on.

“Want a coffee, darling? I bought some extra in advance,” Rhysand asked, breaking the silence that has once again stretched between them.

“Uhm, no thank you, already had some. Also, what’s with the darling?” she demanded to know. 

Feyre knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t let random men call her pet names – even gorgeous men like Rhysand.

“Well, I never caught your name, and I need to call you something, right?” he teased with a little smile.

Feyre’s cheeks burned with shame. Right, she had never told him.

“Feyre,” she said holding out her hand like he had last Friday. “My name’s Feyre Archeron.”

“Well, Feyre,” he purred, leaning a bit closer and whispering into her ear, as if he was telling her a secret, “it’s a pleasure meeting you.”

The way her name sounded on his lips…

Feyre swallowed. Maybe her guilty little pleasure wasn’t that little anymore.


	5. Wednesday, May 9th, 8:55am

“So, when are you actually going to have lunch with me, Feyre darling?”

Feyre rolled her eyes, but smiled inwardly. 

Rhysand asked her this every day, and every day she declined. They had been playing this little game for weeks now, ever since she told him her name.  

“The day I decide to withdraw my consent to legally bind myself to another man,” she quipped back.

“So, soon?” he said with that damn smirk of his that made her heart beat faster every time.

Feyre felt more and more guilty each day she stepped into the elevator and bantered with Rhysand, but she couldn’t help it. She was crushing on him – hard. 

So she had made it a habit to mention her engagement to him, although it probably served more as a reminder to herself about her current relationship status than a successful way to deter Rhysand’s advances. 

The first time he had noticed the ring was when he’d asked her out for lunch the second or third time. Feyre had tucked away some hairs behind her ear, the emerald on her finger practically blazing in the elevator’s fluorescent light. Feyre had seen the bitter surprise and disappointment that flashed over his face then.

Still, he kept asking her out and she kept flirting with him. And the ring on her finger felt like a weight dragging her down, growing heavier by the day.


	6. Tuesday, May 15th, 12:07am

“So tell me Rhysand, what do you actually do?”

Feyre impaled a tomato on her fork and nibbled on it, while she looked at Rhysand from underneath her lashes. She didn’t know what had driven her, most likely her recent argument with Tamlin this morning, but she had agreed to have lunch with Rhysand today.

He had led her to a small, cozy café close to their workplace and so far, they were having a splendid lunch  ~~date~~.

Rhysand chuckled and dropped his gaze to her lips when she licked off a drop of tomato juice. Noticing his stare, Feyre might or might not have taken her time running her tongue over her bottom lip and rather naughtily biting down on it afterwards.

“It only took you one and a half months to ask. I’m impressed,” he jested, clearly enjoying the scowl that immediately followed and that he had teased out of her. “I run a small publishing company,” he finally declared. “It’s called Dream Court Publishing.”

Feyre’s fork halted midway to her mouth.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked. Rhysand blinked in surprise. “You published almost all of my favorite books!”

“Really? Which ones?”

Rhysand’s whole face lit up at the compliment and Feyre marveled at the big, toothy smile he gave her instead of his usual smirk. It made him look even more handsome – and cute. The sight gave her butterflies.

But at the same time, a tiny voice in the back of her head kept repeating one word over and over.

_Traitor, traitor, traitor._


	7. Monday, May 22nd, 8:55am

“Good morning, Feyre darling.”

Feyre sighed. “I wish you would stop calling me this.”

Rhys smirked at her, even more cocky than usual. “No you don’t. You love me calling you darling.”

He was right, but Feyre couldn’t admit this, so she settled for a scowl. He merely chuckled.

“See you for lunch later?” he asked.

After their first lunch  ~~date~~  on Tuesday, they had met up every day.

Feyre knew that she shouldn’t, that she was in a relationship with another man and even if their relationship was a bit strained  ~~failing~~  at the moment, she had promised to marry Tamlin. She was supposed to be in love with her fiancé, not sneaking out during lunch, meeting up with another guy.

But she just couldn’t fight her attraction towards Rhysand. It was, as if something was pulling her towards him.

“Sure. Usual place?” she asked with a little smile.

Before Rhys could answer, the elevator came to a sudden stop. The doors opened on a different floor and in rushed a crowd of men in suits, chatting amicably. Feyre and Rhysand were pushed to the back of the elevator, when the whole group of 7 burly men tried to squeeze themselves into the cramped space.

“Ouch,” Feyre swore; one of the men had accidently stepped on her toe.

With a click of his tongue, Rhysand glared at the poor fellow, who shrunk under his gaze and mumbled a hasty apology, and pulled Feyre towards the corner in the back, propping his elbows left and right of her head, shielding her with his body against the flood of suited muscle and flesh.

The doors gave a shrill warning and the men squeezed themselves further in, pushing even harder towards the back, so the one idiot in the door could get out of the light barrier that prevented the doors from closing. Consequently, Rhysand was pushed against Feyre, their bodies brushing up against each other.

Feyre’s breathing hitched and her whole awareness instantly focused on all the places their bodies connected - their legs and hips, her shoulder and arm on his chest. Rhysand was much taller than her; if Feyre leaned forward, she could bury her nose in the little hollow between his collarbones. She desperately fought the urge to do so.

He was so close, Feyre could smell him, too: the detergent of his black button down, the fresh mint in his breath, and his cologne, an intoxication concoction of jasmine and citrus. Before she could stop herself, he breathed him in with a deep inhale.

“You alright?” Rhys asked, his breath caressing the shell of her ear. Feyre angled her head to look up to him, but the words remained stuck in her throat when their gazes locked.

Their lips were centimeters apart and his eyes bore into hers with an intensity that send a shiver down her spine. The air was so charged between them, it would take tiniest spark - a breath, a smile, her name on his lips - and Feyre would close what little distance was left between them and crush her lips to his.

The doors opened and the men rushed outside, allowing Rhysand to withdraw. Yet, he lingered a moment longer than necessary, still staring at her.

When he finally stepped away, Feyre quickly darted out of the elevator. Behind her, the doors closed with an audible sound, but Rhysand hadn’t gotten off.

Feyre pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart beat hard against the constraints of her ribcage. And with every loud throb her heart made, the nasty voice in her head screamed at her: thud-thud, traitor, thud-thud, traitor, thud-thud, traitor.

It took her 5 minutes to realize, she had gotten off at the wrong floor.


	8. Wednesday, May 30th, 8:55am

“Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning, prick.”

Rhysand chuckled. “That one’s new,” he commented, but Feyre didn’t respond.

She had actively avoided him as much as possible since the elevator incident last time, rejecting his continued invitations for lunch, claiming appointments and leftover work she had to take care of.

The situation at home had started to boil over. Tamlin was withdrawing more and more into angry silence, his eyes following her accusingly every time she moved around their flat. When she had refused to have sex with him this weekend, like she usually did lately, he had thrown a violent fit, toppling over chairs and smashing their plates. She had never seen him like that. And she had never been afraid of him - until now.

Feyre had moved into the spare bedroom and had locked herself in. After the first of his rage had abided, Tamlin had tried to enter, knocking on the door while pleading with her and apologizing, but Feyre hadn’t reacted. She had sat on the bed, huddled into a blanket, afraid of what would happen if she’d open the door.

Eventually, Tamlin had left their flat, but not without locking it up and taking her keys with her. Feyre had spent the whole weekend locked up in her own home, caged like an animal, crying and shouting herself hoarse.

Tamlin had returned Sunday evening and even allowed her to go to work on Monday, but when he handed her her keys, there was an unmistakable warning in his eyes.

So - pathetic as it was - Feyre was desperately trying not to piss him off in any way. She continued to use the spare bedroom, but otherwise she tried to be as pleasant as possible. And if appeasing Tamlin meant avoiding association with Rhysand, she would. Well, she tried.

“Listen, did I do something wrong, because -” Rhysand began, unable to stomach the silence between them, when suddenly, the elevator lurched and stopped. Then, the lights went out.

_No, no, no._

Feyre felt the panic rising, holding her chest in a death grip and pressing the air from her lungs. She had just gotten out, she couldn’t be locked up again.

“Seems like there is a power outage,” Rhysand stated calmly from somewhere to her right. Feyre heard a faint clicking sound and a shrill alarm sounded. “The SOS button still works, I’m sure, they will send someone in a bit.”

Her only reply was a weak whimper. The dark was pressing down on her and, although she could not see them, she was sure the walls did too.

“Feyre, are you alright?” She couldn’t see him, but she heard the worry in his voice.

“N-no,” she choked out, tears streaming down her face. “Can’t breathe.”

Suddenly, two hands grabbed her shoulders and Feyre tried to fight them off in her panic.

“Shhhh, it’s just me. It’s alright. Calm down, Feyre.”

She stopped struggling and Rhysand pulled her towards him, holding her tightly against his chest.

“Put your hands on my chest, darling. Can you feel my heartbeat?” he asked in a calm, steady voice. Feyre did as he said, even went so far as pressing her cheek against his chest, and managed a nod. “Good. Now listen to it.” He gently placed one hand over hers. “Breathe with me Feyre. In-out, in-out.”

Feyre closed her eyes, breathing under his instruction, fighting the panic down by concentrating on the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.

As soon as her breathing had calmed, Rhys let go of her hand and instead, started applying gentle strokes to her back, murmuring soothing nonsense and, every so often, pressing his lips into her hair. Feyre concentrated on the steady purr of his voice, the feel of his warm, strong body and his scent that engulfed her and felt herself relax further.

After a while, the lights flickered back on and the elevator started again, but neither of them moved until they heard the doors ping open. Rhys gently led her outside, where she took a shaky breath, relieved to escape the confinement of the elevator.

A small crowd had gathered upon hearing the alarm, asking whether they were alright.

“We’re fine. Just a little panic attack. She’s fine,” Rhysand repeated patiently to the many concerned onlookers, ensuring them over and over again the both of them were alright until they dispersed.

Feyre was still holding onto him, hiding her tear-stained face in his shirt, unwilling to let go.

“Hey,” he murmured and Feyre finally raised her head to meet his eyes. Rhysand gently brushed the tear stains from her cheeks. “You better?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I don’t like to be locked up.”

Hesitantly, she released the grip on his shirt that was now wrinkled and wet with her tears.

“You mean locked-in.”

“What?”

“You said, you don’t like to be locked up. You meant locked-in, right?” Rhysand asked again.

Feyre realized her slip of tongue and averted her gaze, shame and mortification churning in her gut. But when she tried to push out of his arms, Rhysand slightly tightened his grip on her.

“Who has locked you up?” he asked with quiet venom in his voice. “Was it him?” His eyes flickered to her engagement ring.

Feyre shook her head fervently. “No. No one. You were right, I meant locked-in,” she hedged. “Thank you… for right now. I’m alright now.”

Rhysand looked at her with a pained expression. It was clear he didn’t believe her. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it with sad shake of his head and leaned down to whisper a kiss onto her cheek.

“If you need anything, you know where to find me,” he said, straightening up and letting go.

With a small, sad smile, he walked down the hallway to a nondescript door that must be his office, vanishing behind it.

Feyre slowly raised her hand to her cheek, lightly touching the place he had kissed. She swore, she could still feel the touch of his lips on it, faint as it had been.

This little, innocent kiss had made her realize something, a realization so terrifying and earth shattering, she immediately chose to ignore it, shove it down and tuck it away into the deepest, darkest corner of her heart.

Vigorously wiping away the remnants of her earlier tears, she turned around to approach her own office door, only to be halted at the sight of a pretty blond standing a few meters away: Ianthe.

From the malicious gleam in her eyes, Feyre could tell, she had seen everything. And knowing Ianthe, there was no way she wouldn’t rattle on her to Tamlin.

So much for not pissing him off.


	9. Thursday, May 31st, 8:55am

How did one go about telling their fiancé, that they had been falling out of love with them for a while now and only accepted their proposal, because they had kinda been forcing it on them? How to tell them, that while falling out of love with them, one had fallen for the guy who rides the elevator with them every day at exactly this time?

Well, Feyre did neither of those things, especially not, when Tamlin was standing beside her on said elevator at said time, bringing her to work.

Officially, he had business to discuss with Hybern, but Feyre knew this was just an excuse. She sighed and rubbed her temple. She was having a horrendous headache. And a horrendous problem.

Yesterday, Tamlin had been in her face the moment she had set a foot inside their flat, demanding to know why she got chummy with other men in public while she was supposed to be at work.

That bitch Ianthe had sent him a message, greatly exaggerating the scene she had been witness to and conveniently omitting the fact, that Feyre had been stuck in a dark, confined space for a prolonged period of time, resulting in a panic attack.

At some point Feyre had snapped, telling Tamlin that she might not have desperately held onto the next living being, afraid of being trapped in a closed space, if he hadn’t locked her up in the first place.

Tamlin hadn’t taken that well.

Now, he was standing beside her, still as a stone statue, ire rolling off him in palpable waves. Feyre desperately hoped that Rhysand would be late. If Tamlin heard him calling her pet names, he might very well kill them both.

The doors began to close and Feyre was about to hope, that for once in her life she might get lucky, but then a hand held them open.

Rhysand smirked at her like usual, but the lopsided smile quickly faded into one of neutral politeness, when he took in Tamlin.

Rhysand gave her fiancé a curt nod and turned to Feyre, who stared at him wide-eyed and shook her head imperceptibly. For the briefest moment, his eyes flickered to the hand that was decorated by the obnoxiously large emerald and then back to her pleading eyes. Feyre saw the understanding flicker in his.

“Good morning, Miss Archeron,” Rhysand said in greeting.

His tone was neutral and polite, something one would use when greeting a passing acquaintance who you happen to share the occasional elevator ride with. Nothing in Rhysand’s behavior indicated that they were more than that. Feyre’s knees turned weak with relief.

Still, Tamlin narrowed his eyes at the other man. “You know my wife?” he barked.

_Wife._  Feyre cringed at the sound of it and perceptive as he was, it didn’t escape Rhysand’s notice. But instead of reacting confused or outraged, Rhysand’s smirk deepened and he turned to Feyre again.

“Why, Miss Archeron, you haven’t told me you had actually married. Last I knew, you were still engaged.” Turning back to Tamlin, he extended a hand. “Rhysand Nash, nice to meet you. Miss Archeron here - or is it Mrs. Archeron now? – talks about you a great deal.”

Rhysand’s eyes danced with amusement at the joke only he and Feyre would understand. She could have killed him – or kissed him, Feyre wasn’t sure which. She was too busy fighting down the hysteric giggle that threatened to escape her. Rhysand had made it sound as if Feyre was telling random strangers about Tamlin all day, yet the only reason she ever mentioned Tamlin in front of Rhysand was because she had kept rejecting his lunch invitations for a  ~~short~~  while.

Tamlin’s jaw worked while he took in Rhysand and his outstretched hand. After a painfully long while, he finally shook Rhysand’s hand, gripping it so strongly, his knuckles turned white.

“Tamlin O’Tool,” he gruffly replied. “And how exactly do you know my wife?”

“We’re not married,” Feyre snapped, surprising herself.

But she couldn't stand the thought of Rhysand thinking her married. After all, being only engaged still held the possibility of the engagement falling through. A way out. At least, that was what Feyre was clinging to these days.

“Yet,” Tamlin said, throwing her a stern look. Feyre glared right back.

“Oh,  _Miss_  Archeron and I work on the same floor, so we share the occasional elevator ride,” Rhysand said, putting extra stress on the ‘Miss’, but the humor was gone from his eyes.

For some reason, he had tensed up considerably. It was a subtle change, but Feyre had been watching him daily for almost 2 months now. She noticed.

The elevator pinged softy when they reached their floor and they filled out, Tamlin grabbing Feyre by the wrist and squeezing it painfully hard.

“Was it you?” he snarled.

Rhysand had already started walking down his side of the hallway, but turned around look at Tamlin. “Excuse me?”

“Was it you who got handsy with her yesterday?” Tamlin growled.

Rhysand regarded Tamlin coolly, putting his hands into the pockets of his dress pants.

“If you mean if I was in the elevator when it shut down and your fiancé had a panic attack and needed help, then yes, it was me. Although I don’t know if calming an agitated person can be regarded as ‘getting handsy’,” he said with a lopsided sneer.

Tamlin’s grip on her wrist tightened and Feyre winced at the pain. Rhysand still kept his expression aloof, but she could see a muscle feathering in his jaw.

“Stay away from her,” Tamlin threatened in a low voice.

And then he dragged her off towards Hybern Inc. at the other end of the hallway.

Feyre dared to throw a look back over her shoulder. Rhys was still standing in the same spot, watching her being dragged away, his hands out of the pockets, clenching and unclenching while dangling at his sides.

When he saw her looking, he soundlessly mouthed a message to her.  _Fight it._


	10. Monday, June 4th, 8:55am

Feyre stared at her phone screen, waiting for the time display to switch from 8:55am to 8:56am. She should be standing in the elevator right now, basking in Rhysand’s presence, apologizing for Tamlin’s behavior and thanking him for acting as if there wasn’t anything between them. 

Instead she lay in her bed in the spare bedroom, feeling like someone had sapped away all her energy and will, leaving behind a hollow shell.

The weekend had been hell. After their little meeting in the elevator, Tamlin had all but explicitly forbidden her to ever talk to Rhysand again. And then he had locked her up again, this time in the spare bedroom. Feyre had missed work on Friday because of it, but she had no doubt that Tamlin had made sure she would get away with it. Or maybe he had handed in her resignation. He didn’t want her to work in the first place.

_ Why are you doing this to me. After all I did for you, why must you make me so angry, Feyre? Don’t I give you everything you want? Why isn’t it enough? I don’t want to be angry with you. I love you! So don’t make me. _

Feyre let her phone slide from her grip and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing. 

She was drowning. Slowly, but steadily, she was drowning. 

Feyre didn’t bother wiping away the tears that slowly slid down her cheeks. 


	11. Tuesday, June 5th, 9:47am

“Miss Archeron, from what you told me, I’d say you are going through a mild depressive episode right now,” Dr. Madja said and took off her reading glasses, raising her gaze to meet Feyre’s.

Feyre nodded. She had known without the doctor telling her. This wasn’t the first episode she was having, either. She had a genetic disposition towards depression, her father living with it for as long as she could remember.

“Are you under a lot of stress right now? You mentioned that you took up a new position 2 months ago,” the doctor inquired.

“No, it’s not work. I like going to work,” Feyre answered in a small voice.

Dr. Madja regarded her sharply. “So I take you have a good idea about what is causing this episode right now.”

Feyre stayed silent.

How could she tell a stranger she was slowly dying inside, because she was about to marry a man she no longer loved, but who refused to let her go? How said man was slowly stripping away her freedom. How even now, he was sitting outside in the waiting room and the only reason he wasn’t sitting beside her, like he had demanded to, was that Dr. Madja had seen her face and the small shake of her head and claimed, unless he was family, which he  ~~thankfully~~  wasn’t yet, she couldn’t disclose the examination results to him.

The doctor sighed and donned her glasses again, pouring over Feyre’s test results.

“Miss Archeron, I strongly advise for you to reduce your stress level. You shouldn’t require medication yet, but if your condition deteriorates, we might need to consider it. For now, I’d like for you to schedule an appointment with me once a week, so I can supervise your condition. In addition, I recommend fresh air and mental relaxation. If you can, take daily walks of an hour or longer. And since you have already isolated the source of your stress, I strongly advise you to keep away from it.”

Feyre wanted to laugh.

There was no way Tamlin would let her go out on her own for walks or agree to spending time apart. He wouldn’t even let her go to the doctor by herself. Feyre didn’t know whether this was, because he thought she was too sick, or because he didn’t trust her enough to not cheat on him with the next best person while claiming to have a doctor’s appointment.

No, there would be no unaccompanied walks for her. Not now, not ever.

This realization chipped away another small part of her.


	12. Thursday, June 7th, 8:55am

“I've been missing you all week, Feyre darling,” Rhys drawled when he stepped into the elevator, yet, his voice lacked the usual confidence and spunk.

“I was on sick leave,” she clipped, dismissing him.

She wasn't in the mood. Not for their banter, not for work, not for anything. 

She wanted to crawl back into her bed and do nothing, like she had the last 3 days, but Tamlin was working from home today. And more than anything, she wasn't in the mood to deal with Tamlin.

Rhys studied her face carefully, his worry almost palpable. With a sigh, Feyre turned to him and met his gaze.

“Feyre, you sure you're alright?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

She took her time considering whether she should anwer or not, but then the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Feyre stepped off, but before she could walk away, Rhys gently caught her by the wrist. His grip was loose enough that she could break away if she wanted, but Feyre couldn't muster the strength or will to do so.

“Talk to me,” Rhys said. “What is happening to you? Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you’ve been to hell and back. And you've been losing weight lately.”

Usually, Feyre would've told him to mind his own business, deflect, or brush him off, but she couldn't. She just felt so numb. So Feyre just stared at up at him, empty and motionless like a doll. The doll Tamlin wanted her to be.

Whatever Rhys saw on her face, it caused his own face to darken and he wordlessly pulled her along with him down the opposite side of the hallway, towards the door she so often saw him vanish behind. Feyre didn't fight him. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

Rhys ushered her inside a pretty, stylish office. The layout and floor length mirrors were identical to Hybern’s office, but instead of the Spartan decor and ugly cubicles they had at her workplace, Feyre was met with open space: glass desks stood arranged in small groups, only separated by computer screens or large flower pots, giving the occupants some sense of privacy, but also the opportunity to peek over or around the boundary and talk with their colleagues. More plants hung from elaborate rope contraptions from the windows, cascading down like green waterfalls. Her sister Elain would’ve loved it. 

The atmosphere was nice and cheery, the employees happily wishing them a good morning as they passed or talking softly to each other. Feyre even heard laughter. It was so different from the oppressive mood she was used to on the other side of the building.

Rhys lead her down a long, narrow hallway that was lined by fogged glass. He suddenly stopped and Feyre stumbled into his back, the sudden halt taking her by surprise. Making sure she was alright with a tight-lipped smile, Rhys knocked on the glass wall and opened a door that was built into the glass so perfectly, she hadn’t seen it. He walked in without waiting for a response.

A stunning blonde sat behind a desk, her feet propped up on the table, something that looked like a manuscript in her lap.

“Mor, this is Feyre,” Rhys started without greeting. “She’ll be around today. Care to tell the others, that I need the archive? I’ll be needing it all day, so if they need anything, they should get it now. Oh, and please have Nuala or Cerridwen call Hybern across the floor and inform them, that Feyre Archeron won't be coming in today.”

Turning to Feyre, he asked, “Did you go see a doctor?”

Too tired to answer, Feyre nodded.

“I take, they have written you a sick certificate?” Another nod. “For how long?” he inquired softly, gently squeezing her wrist.

“This week and next,” she admitted in a weak voice.

Rhys pursed his lips and turned to Mor again. “Have them tell Hybern, she won't be in this or next week.”

The woman, Mor, accepted Rhysand’s strange demands without question or backtalk, instead she flashed Feyre a brilliant smile before she picked up her phone.

Rhysand started down the hallway again, pulling Feyre with him. He opened another door at the very and and finally released her wrist, holding the door open for her to enter if she wanted.

Feyre stepped through to find herself in a library of sorts. Two of the 4 walls were lined with bookshelves and more bookshelves were arranged in the space between, creating little aisles. But in a corner, where the two outer walls  meet in a 90° angle, stood a comfortable looking arrangement of plush armchairs and a large L-shaped couch, facing the floor-length windows that offered a splendid view of the city beyond.

Rhys tentatively placed a hand at the small of her back and nudged her forward towards the couch, gesturing for her to sit down. When she did, he perched on an armchair opposite to her. He bend forward, resting his elbows on his upper thighs and clasping his hands together.

“I won't ask you about it, if you don't want to tell me, but I have the feeling you don't want to go to work - and looking like you do, you really shouldn't. But somehow going to work seems more appealing to you than staying at home,” he said softly.

Feyre didn't respond, but kept looking at him with a blank face.

Rhys exhaled in defeat and stood up.

“You're welcome to stay here. Feel free to browse the bookshelves for something to read, or take a nap. My employees won't disturb you - much. You are welcome to come whenever. And I mean it when I say it. You can come hang out all week - this and next week. Nobody needs to know. And if you want to talk, I'm willing to listen.”

Feyre nodded to indicate she understood. She couldn't even thank him. Even breathing seemed to take too much strength. Strength she didn’t have. 

Rhys slightly raised one hand, as if he wanted to touch her, but quickly dropped it. With a brisk nod, he turned on his heel and left her to do - nothing. 

Exactly what she needed.


	13. Friday, June 15th, 12:01am

Feyre stared out of the floor length windows of the archive, taking in the sight of the city beyond the wall of glass she was facing, her hands resting loosely in her lap.

She had been coming here every day since Rhysand had extended his invitation to seek refuge in his office last Thursday.

As was their custom, they met in the elevator every morning. And every morning, Rhysand asked her, whether she wanted to come to his place, or go to work. When she wouldn’t answer, he would slip his hand into hers and walk her to his office, leading her to the archives, all the while holding hands as if they were a couple on a morning stroll.

True to his word, she was mostly left alone, although people sometimes came in to take books from the shelves or look up something in the ledgers. But they had strict order to leave her alone, which they did.

Yet, every morning when she was being led through the office by Rhysand, the employees greeted her with a smile and her name, like her presence in their workspace wasn’t somehow unusual.

Someone cleared his throat behind her, but Feyre didn’t turn around. She knew, who it was. There was only one person that would approach her.

“Care for something to eat?” Rhysand asked softly, placing a plate with tartlets and fruit at the low table next to the couch.

Feyre finally turned her head and looked at the food he had brought her. Only now she noticed, how famished she was. With a quiet thank you, she snatched up the plate and started eating.

Rhysand watched her in silence. Noticing the sketchpad Feyre had discarded earlier, he reached for it, flipping through the doodles Feyre had created during the last couple of days. She didn’t know why, she hadn’t sketched or painted in a long while, but after browsing the bookshelves of the archives and do nothing but devour her favorite books over and over again, her fingers had been itching to sketch out some of her favorite scenes.

“Feyre, did you sketch those?” Rhysand raised his gaze to hers, his eyes widened in wonder.

Feyre nodded, unable to respond because of the blueberry tartlet she had just shoved into her mouth. Not that she had wanted to speak.

“They are gorgeous!” he breathed, eyes back on the sketchpad. “Where did you learn? Do you only do pencil sketches, or can you do color as well?”

Feyre was surprised by his interest. And then she was surprised that she actually felt surprised. She hadn’t been feeling much for the last week or two.

Swallowing her mouthful of tartlet, she spoke for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

“I’m mostly self-taught, but I have a degree in Fine Arts,” she answered, her voice cracked and hoarse after not using it as much in the last week. “And yes, I do color. I actually prefer painting over drawing.”

Rhysand kept flicking through her sketchpad, looking excited for some reason. Finally, he sat it down on the table and looked at her, a feverish gleam in his eyes.

“What if I told you, that we are currently looking for an illustrator. Would you be interested in working for us?”

Feyre inhaled sharply, causing a leftover tartlet crumb to take the wrong way down. As a result, she started coughing violently. Rhys was beside her in a flash, patting her back. Drawing a deep breath, Feyre turned to Rhys and noticed, how close they suddenly were. And although she had been spent the last two weeks in a state of perpetual numbness, she could feel something stirring within her; a warm feeling spreading from the place where his hand still rested on her back, coursing through her veins, chasing away some of the cold inside of her.

Noticing their proximity too, Rhysand let his hand fall from her back and scooted a bit away, but kept looking at her.

“Would you be interested? Of course, you’d need to hand in some samples and I need to discuss with the person responsible, but from what I can see, you’re exactly what we’ve been looking for. What I’ve been looking for,” he added with a little smirk.

Feyre remained silent, pondering.

She used to love painting. Once, it was all she had wanted to do and she had always dreamed to be able to make money by painting. This past week, sketching out the world other people had created with words, seeing it come to life under the tip of her pencil, had filled some of the emptiness in her. But how would she explain to Tamlin that she would be working for Rhysand, when he got crazy jealous over her just riding the elevator with him? And didn’t want her to work in the first place?

Feyre opened her mouth to decline, when Rhys hurriedly said, “you could work freelance, if you don’t want to give up your job at Hybern. You could pick the jobs you want, work from home and send in the finished work. You also wouldn’t need to be around much.”

She knew that he had probably guessed her hesitation was not about her job at Hybern, but her jealous fiancé, and she had to fight back a sob. He was doing so much for her, without ever expecting anything. And that job offer had been genuine, he had only spoken of it after seeing her actual artwork.

“I’ll consider it,” she said eventually. “Should I send you some colored pieces of mine in the meantime?”

Rhysand smiled - not a smirk, but a real, happy smile. Something inside her chest responded to that smile - a shy flutter, like the wings of a butterfly. Hope. That things could be better. That she could.

“Please do. I’ll go talk with Cassian. He’s the one responsible for appointing the commissions for our staff and the freelancers. We call him the Commander,” he added with a little wink.

Picking up the plate Feyre had cleaned off, he stood and started walking away to leave her to her own doing.

“Rhys,” she cried softly after him. It was the first time, she had used his nickname.

Rhysand turned, his eyes blazing as he looked at her. “Yes darling?”

“Thank you. For everything,” she said. And then, for the first time, she smiled at him - a real, genuine smile.

His eyes widened at the sight and he gave her another smile in return. “Anytime, darling. Anytime.”


	14. Monday, June 18th, 8:55am

“Good morning, darling.” Rhysand said with an affectionate smile. He wasn’t being all that subtle anymore.

Feyre attempted a smile in return. “Good moring, Rhys.”

Rhysand tilted his head in question and looked at her.

“What happened?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice. Feyre swallowed.

Another nightmarish weekend with her fiancé, that’s what happened.

Someone, probably Ianthe, had told Tamlin that Feyre, contrary to her claims, hadn’t been to work last week, so he had demanded to know where she’d been every day when she had left the house in the morning and returned in the evening.

When Feyre had refused to tell him, he had gripped her arms so hard, a nasty, purple bruise had started blooming under the skin of her right forearm.

Eventually, she’d lied and told him, she had gone to see a therapist about her depression and had been too embarrassed to tell him about it. When she wasn’t seeing the therapist, she had stayed at her sisters, because she couldn’t relax at home.

Tamlin had readily believed the lie, never questioning it, although he should’ve known that Feyre would never casually hang out at her sisters’. They didn’t have a good enough relationship for that. It was exactly why she had become so dependent on him, that now that she wanted to leave him, she couldn’t.

Feyre shook her head to indicate that she didn’t want to talk about it and wrapped her arms around herself in a defensive motion.

Rhys went eerily still. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” she deflected, unconsciously pulling down the sleeve on her right arm.

But Rhys caught the motion and his face darkened. With heartbreaking tenderness, he reached for her arm and pulled the sleeve up, exposing the nasty bruise Tamlin had left in his anger, the outline of his fingers clearly visible on her pale forearm.

He stared at the bruise, until the elevator doors pinged opened. When he raised his gaze to hers, she balked at the icy rage plainly visible on his face. Hastily, Feyre withdrew her arm and stepped off, before the doors could close.

“Feyre.”

She whirled around to look at him, tears pooling in her eyes. “Don’t. Please… don’t.” she choked out. Then she ran.


	15. Tuesday, June 19th, 8:57am

Rhysand hadn’t shown up today.


	16. Friday, June 22nd, 12:15am

The bruise had faded, but the pain hadn’t.

Neither the pain of realizing that her relationship with the man she was about to marry was unhealthy and she needed to get out of it, but couldn’t, nor the pain of having Rhysand avoiding her all week, because she refused his help one too many times.

On Wednesday, a dark, petite woman, who introduced herself as Nuala, had come over to Hybern Inc. passing a note to Feyre from someone called Cassian. He had jotted down his number and email address for her, informing her that Rhysand had told him about her interest in working freelance for them and asking her to send him a sample of her artwork to him. But there had been no word from Rhysand himself.

And now, she was standing in the hallway in front of Dream Court Publishing and debated whether she should knock on the door and actively seek him out or not. Feyre didn’t even know what she wanted to tell him. The only thing she knew was that she missed Rhysand and wanted to see him. But she was also afraid to.

“Hello Feyre, you dropping by?”

Feyre whirled around to see Nuala coming up behind her, balancing a tray of Starbucks and various bags with carry-on containers dangling from both of her arms. Feyre gave the wraithlike woman a polite smile.

“Hello Nuala. I wanted to drop off the samples Cassian asked for,” she said, holding up a manila folder full of her copied artwork. Although, if Feyre was being honest, the samples were an excuse to have a reason to seek out the office at the other end of the hallway.

The woman laughed quietly. “I’m Cerridwen. Nuala’s twin.”

Feyre blushed. It seemed that after strolling in holding hands with the boss and practically living in their archive for a little over one week, the whole damn staff new her name and didn’t think twice about her showing up at their doorstep.

Feyre started apologizing for her mistake, but Cerridwen waved her off. “It’s fine. Happens all the time. It doesn’t help that we dress alike, too,” she said with a small smile.

Feyre opened the door for Cerridwen and held it open before following her inside. The other woman dumped her spoils on the reception counter and turned to Feyre.

“Cassian is out meeting with another freelancer, but Rhys is here. He’s actually waiting for me to bring him lunch, but I should feed Mor first. Would you mind taking his lunch to Rhys, while I distribute the rest?” Feyre didn’t miss the suggestive look the other woman gave her.

With a nod, she clamped the folder with her artwork under her arm and accepted a carry-on box that smelled faintly of curry and a Starbucks from Cerridwen.

“Uhm, Rhys’ office is where exactly?”

Feyre had only ever seen Mor’s office and the archive.

Cerridwen pointed to another cleverly inbuilt door in the fogged-glass hallway. “Third door on the right.”

Feyre nodded her thanks and made her way down the hallway. When she found the right door, she rather awkwardly balanced the coffee and food container in one hand, so she could knock with the other.

“It’s open.”

Feyre’s heart lurched at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t heard it for days now. Opening the door with shaky fingers, Feyre peered into the office.

Rhysand was sitting behind a large wooden desk, his dark hair mussed and the top button of his shirt undone, frowning at a manuscript and furiously scribbling something into the margins with a red pen.

“Finally, I’m starving,” he said without looking up. “Reading bad scripts seems to burn my energy twice as fast.”

Feyre cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I would’ve been faster if I knew where your office was,” she joked weakly.

Rhysand’s head whipped up and he gaped at Feyre standing in his office, carrying his lunch.

“Feyre,” he whispered, as if saying her name to loud would sent her running.

Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, thinking about the distress and worry she must’ve caused him the whole week. She walked over to him and placed his food on the table like a peace offering.

“I came to give you my art samples,” she said, pulling the folder from under her arm and holding it out to him.

Still sitting, Rhysand took it and put it on his desk without looking at it. Instead he kept studying her, his eyes sweeping over her face and body, as if he was making sure she was unharmed. Something dark flashed over his eyes when his gaze fell onto her engagement ring, but he quickly caught himself and schooled his face into a mask of cool indifference.

“Thank you, I’ll have Cassian look over it and get back with you,” he said in a polite, but distant tone, the dismissal undeniable.

It felt like a slap to her face. But really, what had she expected? She had shamelessly flirted with him, accepted his help when it was convenient for her, but then she had shoved him away, because she was too afraid and embarrassed to admit that her fiancé was an abusive asshole and she hadn’t wanted to have the man she was actually in love with tell it to her face.

“Rhys-” her voice broke, because her throat suddenly felt very tight, and she had to swallow once before continuing. “I haven’t seen you all week and I just wanted to see, whether you’re alright, I guess,” she said in a small voice.

“If I am alright?” he raised his eyebrows at her in disbelief. “I’m great thank you. Can you say the same about yourself?”

Feyre was no longer able to hold back her tears. They started pooling in her eyes, blurring her vision. She barely saw Rhysand standing up and coming to stand in front of her.

“I’m not,” she whispered, looking up to him through her tears.

Rhysand raised a hand and brushed away her tears with his thumb, looking at her with a pained expression.

“He’s not good for you,” he said softly.

A sob escaped her. “I know. But I can’t leave him; he’s made sure of that. I’m indebted to him.”

The money she earned went into his account, the clothes she wore were paid for by him. Feyre didn’t have a damn thing under her name but her family’s debts. And even those Tamlin was involved in.

Rhysand’s jaw settled into a grim line.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

“No.”

Until now, she had never dared say it aloud. Not to herself, not to anyone.

Rhysand gently folded her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. Feyre clutched at the fabric of his shirt and clung to him like a drowning person clung to a piece of driftwood.

Burying her face in his chest, she finally let herself cry.


	17. Wednesday, June 27th, 8:56am

“Will I see you for lunch today?”

Rhysand’s fingers brushed lightly against hers, the touch sending a spark of electricity shooting up her arm.

Feyre turned her head and smiled up to him. “I have an appointment with Cassian, so maybe?”

The ping announced they had reached their floor and the door would open any second now. Rhys smiled back and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head before they stepped off.

The goodbye kiss was their new routine now.

There was no denying the chemistry and mutual attraction between them, but the fact that Feyre was still engaged had them perform a tightrope walk every day. They wouldn't act on their feelings, but they also couldn't bear to stay away from each other.

Feyre wanted nothing more than push the stop button on the elevator and throw herself at him, or do quite a few naughty things with him in his office that involved her being sprawled on his desk next to her favorite books. But she wouldn’t be the woman that sneaked around when at work and fucked her new lover on his desk during lunch break, without ending things with her former lover first.

She wanted a clean break with Tamlin before she did anything more with Rhys than sharing heated looks and the occasional,  ~~not so~~  unintentional, innocent touch.

So for now, the little kiss he pressed into her hair for goodbye was all she had.


	18. Monday, July 2nd, 8:55am

Feyre let out a big sigh that had Rhysand cock an eyebrow at her and leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers lightly brushing against his, but not quite holding hands. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the physical distance between them.

Tamlin had informed her, that he wanted to push the wedding date forward. He wanted to tie the knot, so he could tie her down even more.

He kept asking her to make decisions about which paper to use for the invitations and the color of the flower arrangements, but Feyre couldn’t care less. She dumped most of the decisions on Ianthe, who gleefully took the chance to fashion Feyre’s wedding after her own ideas. Which in turn allowed Feyre to distract Ianthe from the fact that she spent almost every lunch break with another man. 

Feyre _really_ couldn’t bring herself to care about her own wedding.

What she cared about was keeping Tamlin out of her bedroom at night and catching a moment of reprieve in the sanctuary that was Dream Court Publishing, doing something she loved.

Feyre hadn’t told Tamlin about her freelance work for Rhysand’s company and neither did she tell him about the bank account she opened under her name that her wages from Dream Court Publishing were wired to. She couldn’t hide the fact she was painting at home, but Tamlin saw it as a sign that she was healing from her little “affliction”.

He was still slightly irritated she slept in the spare bedroom and avoided most physical contact between them, but he willingly overlooked those things as long as Feyre even slightly appeared to be the woman he wanted her to be - soft, meek, submissive. And painting was just such a pretty hobby for his future wife to have.

But this couldn’t go on. Feyre needed to stop the wedding from happening. With every passing day, she was more convinced that she couldn’t marry Tamlin.

Especially in moments like this, when her eyes met with a pair of stunning violet ones through the polished surface of the elevator doors at 8:55am. Or when a certain someone was standing a bit too close in the otherwise empty elevator, not-so-accidentally brushing his fingers against hers, sharing stolen glances and soft smiles with her.

Or when he not only kissed her goodbye now, but also _good morning_ , _hello again_ , _see you later_ and whenever else he felt like it, pressing little kisses into her hair or the back of her hand.

And sometimes, like now, when the elevator pinged to a stop, to her cheek and another one close to the corner of her mouth, making her gasp, inhaling his sweet, hot breath.


	19. Tuesday, July 10th, 12:23am

“Ouch!”

Feyre’s hand flew to her ear, where the hook of her earring had just painfully ripped at her earlobe when she had straightened her head. Rhysand was looking at her from across his desk.

They were eating lunch together in his office like they did daily now.

She had bend her head down to sniffle at her food and while she’d done so, her earring mus have gotten tangled in the crocheted shoulder parts of her sundress. Tilting her head sideways and cursing softly under her breath, Feyre tried to detangle the dangling assortment of beads and chains from the cloth, but somehow, she only managed to entangle it even more.

“Wait, let me help you.” Rhysand got up and rounded the table. 

He held out a hand to her to help her from her chair and gently turned her around, so Feyre was standing with her back to his desk, allowing him to better assess the tangle dilemma in the light that flooded in from the floor length windows.

With a soft click of his tongue, he first unhooked the earring from her ear and then began fiddling with the jewelry.

While he did so, Rhysand’s fingers brushed her neck every so often and every time, Feyre stopped breathing, because every little, unintended touch made her burn with desire. But Rhysand was too focused on the task and didn’t seem to notice.

“Aha!” he exclaimed in triumph and pulled the earring from her shoulder.

He gave her a smug smile, proud of himself to have freed the earring from her dress, but when Rhysand looked at her, his smile faltered and the air between them suddenly went taunt.

They were standing close - too close - and Feyre was sure her face was betraying just how much exactly she wanted him right at this very moment. They had been dancing around each other for weeks now, every little touch and glance ramping up the tension between them to almost insufferable levels, and with him being so close, his intoxicating scent washing over her -

A wayward little lock had fallen into Rhysand’s brow while he’d worked and Feyre couldn’t resist – she reached up and brushed it away, running her hand through his hair and then softly grazing his cheek with the barest touch of her fingertips. Rhysand’s eyes fluttered close and he took a deep breath, his brows knitted together as if in pain.

He opened his eyes again and there was no mistaking the words in them.

And then his lips were on hers.  

He kissed her – slow, unhurried, and heartbreakingly sweet – the kiss of two people who had yearned for each other for the longest time and wanted to savor even the tiniest touch of that moment they had finally given in to each other. 

His lips were unexpectedly soft and Feyre wanted to drown in the way they felt and moved against hers.

And then he ran the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip, making her tremble with lust and she opened her mouth for him, inviting it inside. Rhysand followed suit and rubbed his tongue against hers in a languid stroke that had Feyre moan into his mouth.

At that sound, Rhysand gave a little shudder and placed his free hand on her waist, pulling her closer and pressing himself against her at the same time. Feyre went pliant and linked her arms behind his head, burying her fingers into the tiny curls at the nape of his neck.

With every stroke of their tongues, the kiss turned more heated.

Feyre broke away for a moment to gulp down some air, but Rhysand immediately slanted his mouth back over hers. Their kissing turned frantic, desperate. It was not enough. They had been starving for the other’s touch for so long, they wanted to gorge themselves on their lips and tongue and touches.

Rhysand’s strong body pressed against hers relentlessly and Feyre stumbled backwards, her thighs hitting his desk. Feeling the wooden edge of the table digging into her flesh, Feyre sat down and parted her legs, so Rhysand could stand between them.

“Feyre,” he whispered against her lips, his voice thick with desire.

Feyre shuddered at the sound, arousal stirring and uncoiling in her belly, and wrapped her legs around his, causing him to lose balance. 

Rhysand fell forward, consequently pushing her flat onto the tabletop. It came close enough to the fantasies she had about them and his desk for her to not think twice about it, but pulling his face towards hers and sucking in his bottom lips while biting down on it gently. Rhysand’s hips snapped into her in response and Feyre smiled against his lips when she felt a certain hardness pressing into her stomach, enjoying the effect she had on him.

Rhyand’s hand slid from her waist over her hip down to her thigh, softly kneading her bare leg. Slowly working his way upward again, he slipped his hand underneath her dress and brought it around to cup her ass, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, growling appreciatively at her curves and the feeling of her. Feyre was sure she was about to combust.

Her own hands still at either side of his face, she let them slide towards the back of his head and down his neck, trying to slip one hand beneath his collar to stroke his shoulders, when Rhys suddenly gave a jolt and cursed, pulling back slightly.

“Ow, darling, that hurt,” he remarked in a low voice.

Feyre was confused. Peeking around his head to examine his neck, she saw a red, angry scratch mark already forming on his smooth skin. The emerald on her ring – her engagement ring – had scraped him when she had run her hand down his neck. The ring must’ve twisted on her finger as the emerald facing down instead of up.

Feyre was looking at the wretched thing in shocked disgust.

For one perfect, blessed moment, she had forgotten the reason she had kept herself from doing what they were just doing for months. Her happy bubble of bliss brutally burst and the reality of her situation came crashing down on her - she was still engaged. To a man she didn’t love.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “Not while I’m still with him.”

Feyre looked back up to Rhysand, who had his own eyes trained on the ring. She watched how his face, that just had shone with lust and joy, was growing slack as his heart shattered.

“When? When are you leaving him then?” he cried, his face twisted in pure agony.

Feyre didn’t have an answer to that.

Rhysand stumbled backwards as if she had hit him and sank into the chair she had been sitting in before.

“I just… fuck, Feyre, I’m so in love with you and it’s killing me. And knowing that you’re still with him, although he’s hurting you, but there’s nothing I can do… the thought that he gets to touch you, to hold you, when I... I - ”

He raked his hands through his hair, the picture of pure desperation and anguish.

Feyre’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. She had known how he felt, how could she not, when she was feeling the same? But they had never told each other. Not explicitly. Seeing him so unhinged, unable to control his emotions, ripped away the last of her hesitation. If it was only her suffering under Tamlin, she could bear it, but to see the pain she caused Rhysand ...

This couldn’t go on. They couldn’t continue like this.

Slowly, Feyre pushed away from the table and walked towards Rhysand. Standing in front of him, she gently placed a hand on his head, running her fingers through his hair. Rhysand shuddered and exhaled a shaky breath, before pulling her down onto his lap and pressing his face into her neck. Feyre kissed the top of his head and pressed her cheek against it, holding it and him as tenderly as she could.

“I’m in love with you, too,” she whispered into his hair.

Rhysand huffed a humorless laugh. “But it doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Feyre closed her eyes, a single tear escaping her, slowly sliding down her cheek before vanishing into his hair.

“No,” she whispered. “It doesn’t change anything.”

It changed everything.


	20. Wednesday, August 1st, 12:35am

“When are you actually gonna leave him?” Cassian asked.

Feyre looked up from the sketches that they had been going over to find the Commander regard her with a thoughtful expression.

She reached up to brush some wayward hairs out of her eyes.

“Soon,” she hedged.

Cassian grumbled and let it slide.

Cassian had called her the day after she had handed in her samples, and demanded an immediate meeting. He then had pushed an unreleased manuscript into her hands, together with a summarized list of the main protagonist’s characteristics, and told her to draw whatever scene or impression striked her fancy. A week later, she had brought over the finished piece during her lunch break to show to Cassian.

He had looked at it with a grim expression for so long, that Feyre was afraid, he was disappointed. But then he had looked up to her, his hazel eyes shining and a shit-eating grin on his face and told her, she was hired and that she better prepared to be flooded with commissions.

After that, Feyre and Cassian had become fast friends. She liked his too loud laugh and boisterous manner, but Cassian was also surprisingly thoughtful and empathic. And he was a great listener. It also helped, that he didn't judge her.

That was why Feyre straightened with a sigh and elaborated on the matter of her cursed engagement.

“It’s not that simple. There are some things I need to take care of beforehand. Like, where am I going to live, what am I going to do about money?”

_How was she going to prevent him from getting physical and confining her again, forcing her to marry him?_

The thought made Feyre feel shocked and disgusted; both because she presumed such behavior from someone she’d once loved and the fact, that, considering his behavior lately, such an outcome might very well be possible.

Shaking her head, she began gathering her sketches.

“I need to make sure that I can manage by myself before I leave. I don't want to simply latch onto the next guy and be dependent on him instead of Tamlin.”

Cassian accepted her reasoning with a nod. “Does Rhys know where you're coming from, though?”

Feyre blushed and the stack of papers she was holding slipped through her fingers, scattering to the floor of Cassian’s office.

“What? I mean, why do you-” she spluttered.

Cassian barked a laugh. “Please Feyre. I see the way you look at each other. The whole office does. You'd need to be blind not to see how crazy the two of you are about each other. We actually have a bet going about which one of you will cave first and pounce.”

“Oh Mother,” Feyre groaned and sunk into her chair, hiding her burning face in her hands. “I can never show my face around here again.”

“Pity, it's a pretty face,” Cassian quipped, but his tone turned solemn all of a sudden. “On a more serious note, does Rhys know you're planning to leave Tamlin? Because he might look like he's on Cloud 9 when you're around, but he's suffering when you're not. He looks positively unhappy these days.”

Feyre raised her head to look at him.

“No. I don't want him to get involved. I need to do this on my own. I need to be clear about the fact that I'm leaving Tamlin for myself, not because of Rhys,” she said quietly. “Don't take me wrong, I'm in love with him and if it weren't for him, I probably wouldn't have realized just how  unhealthy my relationship with Tamlin is, but I can't depend on Rhys any more than that. I mean,” she gestured towards the sketches that were littered all over the floor, “he already gave me a job.”

Cassian raised one eyebrow.

“You know, the only reason Rhys offered you a freelance position was because he didn’t want to create trouble for you at home. We’d actually been looking for an illustrator to hire full-time for a while now and we’re quite picky about the artwork we use. Rhys didn’t give you the job, because he took pity on you. He offered the job, because you possess the skills needed for it and we were desperately looking for someone with your skill set. I'd hire you full-time on the spot, Feyre. Don't make yourself smaller than you are.”

Bending down, he started picking up the papers. Feyre could only watch; she was too overwhelmed by Cassian’s praise.

“But I understand your reasoning,” he continued, neatly arranging the sketches into a pile and handing them to Feyre, who absentmindedly reached for them.

“Rhys _would_ support you financially, if you decided to leave Tamlin tomorrow. I'm pretty sure, he'd buy you a house if you asked for it. He tends to go overboard with his presents. He's so generous, it's borderline OCD. Just don't make him wait too long?” he pleaded softly.

Cassian’s face clearly portrayed his concern and love for Rhysand, making Feyre’s heart feel heavy with guilt at the hurt she had caused the both of them.

“Soon. Very soon,” she promised.


	21. Friday, August 17th, 8:55am

“I quit. It’s my last day working at Hybern.”

Rhysand didn’t turn to her, but like the first time when they had ridden the elevator together, their eyes met on the polished surface of the elevator doors. A dark look crossed over his face.

“Did he force you to?” he growled.

Feyre burst into a set of giggles, which confused Rhysand enough to look at her directly.

“No, he didn’t. And he won’t be,” she said, still bubbling with laughter.

Rhysand regarded her with a confused look. Feyre used the opportunity to raise her left hand and tuck away some loose strands of hair behind her ears.

His eyes immediately flickered towards her engagement ring, like they always did lately - only the hateful thing was no longer there.

Rhys inhaled sharply when he noticed the missing ring and what it might imply, but he was too stunned to speak.

“I left him”, Feyre declared, in case her bare finger wasn’t indication enough. “I’m sorry it has taken me so long.”

She had planned to leave Tamlin ever since Rhyand had confessed to her and broken down in his office, maybe even before that. Only, it had taken her a while and some additional work commissions to gather enough money for Feyre to pay the deposit for a small one-bedroom apartment and afford at least 3 months of rent.

During lunch break yesterday, she had finally picked up the keys, and when she had returned to the flat she shared with Tamlin after work, she had informed him about her decision to leave him.

Feyre had known she wouldn’t be able to do this alone, so she had done something she had dreaded almost as much as telling Tamlin she was leaving him: she had called her sisters, asking them for help.

And although their relationship was rocky at best, her sisters hadn’t hesitated one minute. They had helped her pack her stuff and load it into a U-Haul before Tamlin came home and then patiently waited in the spare bedroom while they talked. The moment they heard the first thinks flying and furniture being toppled over, they had come bursting into the living room.

Nesta had rather impressively halted Tamlin, who was in mid-charge at Feyre with his hands raised, about to strike her, glaring him to a stop. Then she had informed him, that Feyre would sue him for domestic abuse and deprivation of liberty, but he was welcome to continue what he was clearly attempting to do, if he wanted any more charges added to the list. Elain had captured the whole scene with her smartphone.

Feyre was never happier to have gotten over herself and having asked for the help she had dearly needed. Now, she was feeling lighter and happier than ever, especially as she was grinning at the man she loved.

Rhysand, however, was still staring at her bare finger.

“You left him.”

“I did.”

“You’re not gonna marry him,” he deadpanned.

Feyre gave a soft snort. “Cauldron, no. Never wanted to in the first place.”

Rhysand blinked a few times, before locking gazes with her again. At the heat in his gaze, Feyre could feel the goosebumps forming on her arms.

Faster that she could follow, Rhysand had smashed the stop button and, while she was still fighting to keep her balance because of the elevator’s sudden halt, pressed her against the wall, crushing his lips to hers.

“Finally,” he muttered, before claiming her lips again in a wild kiss.

Feyre dropped her bag with a loud thud and plunged her finger into his hair, pulling him closer. Opening her mouth, she shoved her tongue into his at the first opportunity, causing him to tremble adoringly.They kept kissing in that frenzied manner for several minutes. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard and being heavily aroused.

“I’m late for my last day at work,” Feyre laughed breathily. “And I probably look rather scandalous.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Rhysand mumbled, while he unbuttoned her button-down, kissing her exposed cleavage.

Tilting her head back and leaning it against the elevator wall, so he had better access to her chest, Feyre mused, “I have to look for a new job.”

She gasped a little, when Rhysand softly bit the skin over her heart and palmed one breast through the thin fabric of her lacy bra.

“I sure, we can work something out,” he assured her, toying with her bra strap, as if he was deciding about what to do next.

Feyre gently pushed him off her.

“That’s all good and well, but I should tell you that I’m not really into screwing my boss. Makes things complicated,” she clarified with a challenging smile, while she pulled her button-down out of her pencil skirt and undid the last couple of buttons, letting the shirt fall onto the floor.

“Which I appreciate greatly, because, technically, Cassian would be your boss,” Rhysand answered with a little wicked smirk of his own, slowly undoing the buckle of his belt.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she watched the belt clatter to the floor, before Rhysand started unbuttoning his own shirt.

“As a matter of fact, however,” she said, closely observing Rhysand undo the buttons, exposing his well-defined torso peu à peu, “I have absolutely no qualms about screwing my boyfriend in an elevator.”

Rhysand shrugged off his shirt and stepped closer to Feyre, his hips settling against hers, while his hands slowly hitched up her skirt.

“Well, that’s terribly convenient,” he purred, leaning down for a slow and deliberate kiss.

Feyre reached behind her and undid the claps of her bra, letting it join their shirts on the ground, before starting on his pants.

Smiling against his lips, she cooed, “It is, isn’t it?”


	22. Tuesday, April 2nd, 9:24am - Epilogue

Feyre focused on the cool touch of the metal beneath her heated cheek and palms, her front pressed against the polished metal surface while she tried to calm her breathing.

She couldn't help the little moan that escaped her when Rhys kissed the little sensitive spot behind her ear and slowly eased out of her with a content sigh.

Feyre turned to take her boyfriend in. His face after sex was one of her favorite sights. His tanned skin flushed, his eyes alight with the remnants of lust and joy, a small, happy smile on his lips, which were swollen from kissing. Before he could pull away completely, she reached up and pulled him down for another greedy kiss.

“Careful, Feyre darling,” he chuckled. “If you continue kissing me like this, we might need to go for round two. And at some point, someone will need the elevator again.”

After the others had walked in on them busying themselves on Rhys’ desk or in the archive more often than they cared to, the whole staff had staged an intervention, banning all sexual activity from taking place within the office. Which didn’t seem to deter Mor, the little hypocrite, from sneaking in some sexy time with her girlfriend every once in a while, but meant that Rhys and Feyre had to look for other places to take care of their need for each other.

Since the elevator technically wasn’t part of their office, but part of the office building their office was located in, they had concluded they were allowed to use it for their shenanigans.

Feyre kissed Rhysand one last time, but eventually let go.

Rhys pulled up his pants with a satisfied hum and Feyre ran a hand over her skirt and hair in a futile attempt to not appear like she just had sex in an elevator at 9 in the morning.

“Have you seen my suit jacket?” Rhys asked, fiddling with his belt buckle.

Feyre looked around and found it crumpled in the far corner of the elevator. How it had gotten there, she had no clue. She went to pick it up, shook it out and patted it gently to get off some dust flakes that clung to it, when a little box fell from the pocket. Curious, Feyre picked it up. It was a small, square box that looked suspiciously like -

Feyre sucked in a sharp breath and looked to Rhysand, who rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, a sheepish smile on his face.

“I actually wanted to do this later, but well… Now that you have already found it, go ahead. Open it.”

Feyre let his jacket drop unceremoniously to the floor and opened the box with shaky fingers.

Inside, on a blue satin cushion, sat a ring: A pretty, oval-shaped blue star sapphire on a silver band inlaid with mother of pearl. It was beautiful.

Feyre raised her head and stared at Rhysand in disbelief.

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

“No.”

Feyre blinked in surprise. “But then… the ring… I don’t understand.”

Rhysand took a step closer to her and gently ran a knuckle down her cheek.

“I won’t ask you to marry me. Ever. But I want to marry you,” he said, gazing at her softly. “I knew I wanted to from the day exactly one year ago on, when we were standing in this very elevator and you were ogling me like I was a snack you wanted to have. I knew for sure, when you were giving me that little smile at the end of the first week, or when you were too flustered to give me your name when we spoke the first time.”

Feyre felt the heat slowly creep into her cheeks when she thought back to those embarrassing first encounters.  

“I want to marry you so badly, I can’t go another minute without having you know it. But I don’t want to force you to give me an answer. So no. I won’t ask you to marry me. Instead, I’ll give you that ring for safekeeping and ask you to put it on, when you feel like you’re ready to marry me.”

Feyre’s bottom lip trembled and she bit down on it. “And what if I’m never ready?”

Rhysand cradled her head and pressed a lingering kiss to her brow.

“Then you don’t put it on. If you should ever decide to dump me, though, I’d kindly ask for you to return it first. It was my Mother’s and I am quite fond of it.”

Feyre giggled and sniffled at the same time, eyeing the beautiful man standing before her.

The man, whom she had unwittingly fallen in love with riding an elevator every day at 8:55am. The man, who had always been there for her, even when she had pushed him away; who loved her fiercely and unconditionally and never asked more of her than she was willing to give.

The man, who had totally improvised a non-proposal in an elevator they’d just fucked in. It was the most horrible, yet romantic proposal she could have ever wished for.

Feyre burst out laughing and pulled him down for a sloppy kiss. Relieved about her reaction, Rhysand beamed at her, the most beatific smile on his face.

Still giggling, Feyre plucked the ring from its little cushion and, to Rhysand’s great surprise, slipped it onto her ring finger. Holding her hand up for her fiancé to see, she smiled at him.

“How do I look?” she teased, waving her hand emphatically.

Rhysand’s eyes were blazing as grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer with a sharp tug. “Like someone, who should prepare for round two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!  
> This has been a very interesting experiment for me, and I enjoyed your reactions very much!!!!!!!
> 
> Come join/talk to/play with me on tumblr: @howtotameyourillyrian


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